


Haud Vita Sine Morte

by impudent_strumpet



Series: Before The Dark [1]
Category: Plague Tale: Innocence (Video Game)
Genre: ASOIAF references, Also medieval abortifacients don't work on the unborn twins, Babies, Bad Fic, Bad Writing, Before the twins are even born, Big Brothers, Breaking Bad References, Brothels, Brother-Sister Relationships, Brotherhood, Brotherly Love, But I referenced Melicia, Canon Era, Canon Related, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canonical Child Abuse, Caretaking, Child Abuse, Childbirth, Childhood, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Crying, Drowning, Fatherhood, Female Characters, Female Friendship, Female-Centric, Flashbacks, Friendship, I Don't Even Know, I am the worst for this, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Innocence, Little Sisters, Loss, Love, Major Original Character(s), Middle Ages, Mild Smut, Minor Original Character(s), Minor Violence, Motherhood, Multi, Near Death, Near Death Experiences, Newborn Children, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Graphic Smut, Non-Graphic Violence, Older Man/Younger Woman, Original Character Death(s), Original Character-centric, POV Original Character, POV Third Person Omniscient, Parent Death, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Underage, Pre-Canon, Prostitutes, Prostitution, Protective Older Brothers, Protective Siblings, Protectiveness, References to Canon, Rivers, Shameless, Strong Female Characters, Tears, Teen Pregnancy, Teenagers, That makes me the captain of this ship, They're made of tougher stuff, This Is STUPID, Twins, Two Shot, Unplanned Pregnancy, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-20 00:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20219062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impudent_strumpet/pseuds/impudent_strumpet
Summary: How the twins came into the world, with some references to what will happen to them in the future.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Probably my worst Plague Tale fic ^^; Yet it gets the coolest title; it's Latin for "No Life Without Death," which is fitting for the story, and is one of the three options you can pick for the de Rune family coat of arms in the game. And I did an egregious amount of research for it. ^^;

The girls of the dockside brothel of Aquitaine, in that memorable year of 1332, had been barely able to hide their awe when a certain man came to their door. He had ale on his breath, but muscled arms, and cold eyes, for sure, but of the lightest blue the girls had ever seen, like two pieces of ice.  
  
"Alright, girls, that's enough gawking," the brothel's madam, Blanche, commanded. "C'mon, show him whatcha got."  
  
The girls snapped out of their reverie and did as they were bid, casting aside their shawls and skirts to reveal their low-cut bodices and bare thighs as Blanche introduced each of them. Germaine, a girl of six-and-ten with straight brown hair, hazel eyes, and a freckled face, who was employed as the brothel's serving girl and wet-nurse — and "nothing else," as the young man who had brought her insisted, despite Blanche's offers — kept her distance to attend to her work. The man ended up choosing Yvette, a plainer girl of four-and-ten with a pockmarked face but red hair that she was well-known for and at times a sharp tongue.  
  
She peppered him with such barbs throughout, as the girls faintly heard, between gasps and moans of pleasure. It was when they seemingly had finished, after an especially biting one of such remarks, that the other girls heard a sharp and startling sound from that room. It was, thankfully, before this could escalate that the madam intervened and hurried the man out.  
  
"Yvette...?" came the voice of another young harlot with light hair after the man had left. She recoiled when she saw the faintly purple mark on the other girl's cheek in the mirror. "Ohh... Did he hit you?"  
  
"Just once. I'm fine," Yvette assured her as she continued applying makeup over the mark.  
  
"Are ya sure?" the other girl asked.  
  
"No one's ever died of a slap, Olympe," Yvette quipped.  
  
The girl named Olympe smiled. "Still, d'you want to see Émilie?"  
  
Émilie was a girl who worked at an alehouse near the brothel, and who both girls were acquainted with. The redhead smiled, putting the makeup down. "Sure."  
  
The tavern wench in question grimaced upon seeing Yvette's bruise when the girls walked in. "You alright there?"  
  
"I'm fine." Yvette sat down. "Just a slap. Y'know where this bad mouth of mine can get me." She smiled.  
  
"D'you want a drink?" Émilie offered.  
  
"No thanks," Yvette replied.  
  
"You?" she asked Olympe.  
  
"Sure." the other girl nodded.  
  
"Did a man with light blue eyes come in here earlier? Really light blue eyes?" Yvette asked the tavern wench. "I thought I smelled ale on him."  
  
"Ohh, him!" Émilie exclaimed as she poured some ale into a cup for Olympe. "Yes, that's right. In a foul mood, he was. It's strange, y'know. Men come 'ere all riled up, fer a drink to calm 'em down, only fer some to get even more wroth in their cups."  
  
"Ah, well. It happens. Better than those English curs that keep comin' to us," Yvette muttered.  
  
"You're tellin' me," Olympe replied. "What's with all of them? They hate our countrymen. What's so special 'bout us?"  
  
"Some of them never had a French girl, perhaps. They find us exotic and excitin'," Yvette guessed, rolling her eyes.  
  
Olympe shook her head. "Though there was one I saw, who might have been sweet on me, said my hair looked like the sun's light on the river Thames."  
  
They both laughed.  
  
Then Yvette's face fell. "Hey, d'you ever still feel dirty afterwards, doin' what we do?"  
  
The flaxen-haired girl put her cup down. "Ohh, yes, but fer sure not as much as I did the first time. And it's nothin' a bath every now and again can't take care of. We're lucky fer those things at least. A bath each week, clothes on our backs, food in our bellies, tansy tea to keep anythin' else out...more'n those poor beggars and orphans can boast of. Least that's what I tell m'self."  
  
"Ohh, fer sure," Émilie agreed. "Y'hear all kinds of stories workin' here. Could always be worse."  
  
Yvette nodded. "Poor souls, out there on their own."  
  
"Hey, d'you remember that whore from a while back, that some lordling took with him for his own?" Olympe asked.  
  
Yvette thought for a moment. "Barely, but yes. He seemed real fond of her."  
  
"I didn't like her much, but yeah, he did. Wonder whatever happened to her," Olympe mused.  
  
"Can't really hope fer much, y'know? A highborn and a lowborn."  
  
"True."

~

  
  
"D'you ever bleed anymore? Y'know, each moon?" Olympe asked Yvette in a hushed voice a few weeks later, as they were getting dressed.  
  
"Hardly ever, now that I think of it," Yvette replied. "I don't question a good thing, anyway."  
  
Olympe laughed. "Yeah, works for us. No feelin' choleric, our bellies don't swell, the men don't end up takin' a bleedin' girl to bed."  
  
"But...I fell ill earlier this morning. Sick to my stomach," Yvette confessed, earning a concerned glance from the other girl.  
  
"Yvette! Hurry up and come down here! The blacksmith wants you again!" the madam called up to her.  
  
Olympe made her way downstairs to Blanche. "She's unwell."  
  
"Just a moment, if ya please," Blanche told the blacksmith, then strode up to Olympe and placed her hands on her hips, suspicion clear on her face. "Oh really?"  
  
When Olympe did not answer right away, the sound of the harlot in question vomiting again could be heard upstairs, faint but unmistakable.  
  
The blonde knew that expression on Blanche's face, and knew well that Yvette would have the madam to answer to if she was indeed with child. But there was no way of knowing for sure until the quickening, at around three to five moons. "It could be nothin'," she supplied.  
  
Blanche scoffed. "I've been commandin' this property fer years. I know that fertile young harlots don't suddenly start heavin' the gorge for 'nothin'.' How many times do I have to tell that one to have him spill his seed on her belly..."  
  
_Alright, that didn't work..._ Olympe thought. She was the same age as Yvette and hadn't been working at the brothel for much longer; she really did not know what to do in a situation like this. But she knew Blanche to be a hard and stern woman. "She might not be. She might have been with a sick man earlier. We get all kinds here, y'know that," she suggested.  
  
"May God be with her either way," Blanche muttered, and turned to the other girls. "The rest of ya get to work." Without another word, she strode into the room where she found Yvette.  
  
"Alright, you. Give me the truth now," she demanded in a hushed but stern voice, her arms folded over her chest.  
  
Yvette turned from the chamber pot, stood up, and shrugged. "I'm unwell...?"  
  
"Yes, I can see _that_," Blanche snapped. "I don't know if ya ate or drank anythin' off recently, or were perhaps in close contact with a sick person, but if you _are_ with child..." She sighed. "I almost want to make you finally face the effects of yer stupidity. But that'd be bad for business. Perhaps some tansy will still work. If not, you're a skinny one. Hide it the best ya can, and give it to the Church or a monastic house when the time comes. Fer now, since you're ill, take today off."  
  
After she left, Yvette sighed. This was the first time she had gotten with child, as far as she knew. She was afraid, but she did not want to kill it. She knew of the mass-grave beneath the brothel where the children of former harlots were buried...and the thought made her shiver. Still, it was the only way, and the madam definitely expected her to take this time to brew herself some tansy tea.  
  
So she did so.

~

  
  
Yet, weeks later, she was still vomiting, albeit with less frequency, and it seemed too late for her to have caught some sickness.  
  
Olympe sighed. "If you're heavin' the gorge this much, it can only mean you're either sick or with child...and neither of those are good." She stepped closer to Yvette and glanced at her stomach. "Could I...?"  
  
The red-haired harlot nodded. Olympe placed one hand on the other girl's back, and gently pressed on her stomach with her other hand.   
  
There was a moment of stillness, trepidation rising in Yvette, then Olympe lifted her gaze to her and said, "That's a babe alright. Ya didn't drink yer tansy tea?" 

"I did... Looks like it didn't work," Yvette said.

"That's one tough babe, then," Olympe said. "Don't take any more if ya don't want to poison yerself too."

"If it's a girl, she could be a serving girl here. If it's a boy..." Yvette sighed. "I s'pose I'd have to give him up. But I couldn't give it to the Church's care. Not in times like this."

"Oh, I know. Have ya seen that one guard, with the cross on his helm?" Olympe whispered.

Yvette shuddered. "Too many times." She wrapped her arms protectively around her stomach.

"But...God forbid, but what if ya don't survive it?" Olympe asked. "You know how all those mothers die giving birth..."

Yvette was silent for a moment. "If that happens...Olympe, you have to give the babe to Germaine. She'd look after it, at least 'til it's of age."

"'Til it's of age'...? Ya mean...give it to its father? The man that hit you?"

"It would have no one else." Yvette sighed again. "It couldn't stay here forever."

Olympe nodded sadly. "Germaine's a good soul. The best of us all, I'd say."

  
"That's right." Yvette smiled. "I used to think of what I'd name my babes if I had any. If it was a boy, I wanted to name him Arthur. If it was a girl, she'd be named Mélie."  
  
"Arthur...'noble and courageous'...and Mélie...'hard worker and leader.' Those are some strong names," Olympe noted. "Fit fer a little prince or princess. If the babe has yer hair and the eyes of the man that took ya, he or she'll steal all the hearts around fer sure. Even one of them nobles, I bet."  
  
"A whore's whelp takin' a noble girl, won't that be the day," Yvette laughed.  
  
The blonde harlot shrugged. "Hey, a girl can dream. Never say never, sweeting." After a moment, she gazed out the window. "About that...I know this is no palace fer any of us. I saw the looks of longin' on the other girls when they heard of Knight de Rune courtin' the Lady Béatrice. It's a place full of sin, this is. Ya'd think those church men'd take it down faster than you could blink, with their swords and arrows and fire, burn us all at the stake. Yet they don't, 'cause they gotta keep evils like self-touchin' and rapin' at bay. They know of all the filth that goes on 'ere, but they can't touch it. In that sense...it's almost like a sanctuary."  
  
Yvette thought for a moment, then smiled. "I never thought of it like that...but you're right, in a way. And, y'know..."  
  
When she was silent for a moment, Olympe looked her way. "What is it?"  
  
"This...makes me happy," Yvette said, gazing down at her stomach. "As strange as that sounds. I've always been down on my luck, my family was too...like all of us've. My parents buried all their kids but me. And I've ended up here. Beddin' down with men I don't know each day, eatin', sleepin'...and fer what? Fer nothin'. There was no point. But...with this baby in my belly...I'm just so happy. I've never felt like this. I don't know if it'll live, or I'll live, but...this babe might be the one good thing I've brought to this cruel world."  
  
Olympe smiled, having no words for that moment, and prayed each night for Yvette after that. She knew she could not hope for much, with so many infants and mothers dying after births. Still, she prayed that both the mother and child would be safe. That there would be someone gentle and loving to look after the baby. She knew deep down that they would have to be very, very lucky for everything to be alright. There were no perfect happy endings here... But Olympe could not make herself think on that. All she could do was hope in her heart for the best, for at least some goodness to come out of this.

~

  
  
The birthing of Yvette's child had been made as hushed and private an event as could be. Blanche had sent for a midwife — who slipped through the brothel's back door and there was no utterance of what she was there for — and immediately hurried both her and Yvette into another room, locking the door. She allowed in no one else, with the begrudged exception of Olympe when the blonde harlot insisted on being there to provide support.  
  
"It's alright, keep going," the midwife said as Yvette writhed and screamed in the birthing chair.  
  
"C'mon, push. Harder." Olympe squeezed Yvette's hand.  
  
"Hush yer shrieking 'fore I come in there and beat it out of ya!" Blanche yelled through the door.  
  
The girl in labor squeezed Olympe's hand so hard her knuckles went pink, gripping a cross in her other hand. After some time, the blonde girl had no idea how long, she had to let go, as her hand had gone numb and slick with sweat. _How long will this go on...?_ she thought worriedly, then told herself, _It's alright. Childbirth can take several hours._  
  
The sun had risen high in the sky by the time Yvette's screaming started to abate.  
  
"Alright, just one more push," the midwife urged. "There it is, there's its head."  
  
Just several minutes later, Yvette's screaming was replaced with exhausted breaths and the cries of a newborn.  
  
"It's a boy." The midwife smiled as she held the baby in a roughspun blanket in her arms.  
  
_Oh no. He'll be sent away._ The words crossed Olympe's mind with dread. But she made herself put them away. What mattered right now was that both mother and baby were safe.  
  
"Looks like I called it," she said cheerily upon seeing the fine red hair and wide blue eyes of the baby boy, as the midwife laid him in Yvette's arms.  
  
The young mother laughed between heavy breaths, her hair dark with the sweat she was drenched in and the cross now on the arm of the birthing chair. Yet still, her belly looked almost the same. "Don't let any of them church officials hear that. They'll take ya fer a witch."  
  
Olympe snickered. "His name's Arthur, now is it?"  
  
"That's right." Yvette smiled down at him.  
  
The other girl knelt beside her and smiled too. "Welcome to the world, Arthur." She kissed his little cheek.  
  
It was about ten minutes later that Yvette went into labor again...and all the smiles faded.  
  
"Another?!" Olympe shrieked, quickly taking the baby boy from her.  
  
"It must be a twin," the midwife explained.  
  
Yvette screamed like nothing the other harlot had ever heard, even more than she had birthing Arthur, sounding like she would break from the strain. She clutched the cross in one hand so hard her knuckles went white and blood trickled from her fist, and her other hand threatened to crush the arm of the birthing chair in its grip. She kept hemorrhaging to the point that, after a few hours, the skirt of her dress and the seat of the birthing chair were nearly soaked in her blood.  
  
It had been almost noon when the baby boy was born. Now it was sunset, as his twin finally came out of Yvette and into the midwife's hands, more blood pouring out.  
  
"This one's a girl," the midwife announced.  
  
"Olympe..." Yvette beckoned where she lay exhausted in the birthing chair, covered in blood, her face deathly pale and her eyes glassy. The sight filled Olympe with dread. "Do you...remember...?" she choked out.  
  
"Yes." The blonde girl nodded fervently, tears threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes. "I'll do it, I promise. And I'll keep 'em together."  
  
"Thank...you..." Yvette took a few more heavy breaths, then at once she fell still, and the light left her eyes.  
  
Olympe was still for a few moments too, then turned to the midwife and took the baby girl in her free arm. "Welcome to the world, Mélie," she whispered, sadly this time.  
  
"What now?" the midwife gasped.  
  
"I can take them from here," Olympe answered.  
  
"Not so fast, you." The brothel's madam appeared in the doorway. "You're but a babe yerself! And ya have work to do, just like the rest of us."  
  
"You're a real bitch, y'know that?!" Olympe yelled at the procuress as she held both twins close to herself.  
  
"That's enough," Blanche snapped. "I have an establishment to run. We can't care for two babes. They're goin' to the nearest monastic house."  
  
"No, they're not," Olympe retorted. "Their mother said to give 'em to Germaine to look after 'til they come of age, then she'd give 'em to their father. That's what I mean to do. And you can't stop me."  
  
"Right, the serving girl. Very well then." Blanche turned to the midwife, with a faintly sad look in her eyes. "Yer work here is done after ya find someone to bury the poor girl, alright?"  
  
The midwife nodded and went on her way, just before Blanche approached the birthing chair to close the dead mother's eyes.  
  
Germaine blinked back tears after hearing the news, as she held both the newborn twins in her arms. She stared into their sky blue eyes, that so closely resembled those of the man who was undoubtedly their father, except theirs were wide and clear, full of innocence, with none of the coldness that had been in his. So pure and untainted yet by this difficult world.  
  
"I'll take care of ya two, alright?" she told them. "At least fer now...Arthur and Mélie. Strong and brave, just like yer mother... It's so hard out here...but I'll keep ya safe, long as I can. Ya have to stay together. You're twins, brother and sister. Ya shared a womb. Ya have to always be together. Remember that."  
  
She kissed each twin's brow as tears rolled down her cheeks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surpriiiiiiise! I wasn't expecting this to be a two-shot, but...it just happened XD This chapter's even worse than the first one, but it's done after this.

Time passed by at the brothel with undisturbed normalcy. The madam commanded the premises as always, the girls attended to their usual work. The serving girl cooked and cleaned, cared for and nursed the newborn twins along with her own child Mathieu. The twins' "milk brother," she called him.  
  
One might never guess this establishment had just months ago been the birthplace of said newborn twins and the deathbed of their mother. The boy was born from pain that turned to joy, the girl from screams of agony and a sea of blood.  
  
Olympe did her work as dutifully as ever, putting on a brave face as much as she could. But she fell into her grief almost immediately in her downtime. The closest one she had ever had to a friend in this cesspit was gone. Death happened constantly in this time and place, of course. But how could the world just carry on, when a loss sometimes sent such a shockwave through one's life?  
  
She visited Émilie to keep her emotional state somewhat afloat, and saw the twins every now and then. She was not sure if they helped her heal or only further worsened her grief. They seemed to do both. They served as a living reminder of their mother, they so resembled her, as Olympe would stroke their soft heads and run her fingers through their fine red hair. They had the most darling little faces, she thought. Baby Arthur would smile up at her, and little Mélie would lightly tug on a lock of the harlot's flaxen hair. Their eyes were of the lightest blue and so full of untouched innocence and fascination it made Olympe want to cry. Such a stark contrast to the squalor and evil all around them. She would hold them close to herself, wanting to protect and preserve that most precious, most blessed innocence.  
  
Germaine said Mélie in particular could be an impish one, kicking her little legs when the wet-nurse tried to change her, lifting her arms to be picked up only to try to wiggle free from the hold, kicking and swatting at Arthur and Mathieu.  
  
Olympe told herself not to grow attached, for it would not be long before the babes were given to their father. But was that even possible? She saw that same knowingness, same longing, in their wet-nurse's hazel eyes too as she attended to them.  
  
"Germaine?" she asked softly one day.  
  
"Yes?" The serving girl turned to her.  
  
It took Olympe a moment to phrase what was on her mind as she held the twins in her arms. "D'you think...they'll be alright?"  
  
Germaine took a few more moments on that as she folded up some clothes. Then she said, sadly, all that there was to be said. "I hope so."  
  
Olympe knew well that there were men out there who hit their wives and children. The twins' father was one of them, as Yvette had learned firsthand. If she could have helped it, she would make sure he never touched a single hair on either of their heads without paying dearly for it. In whatever way she had to. But it would be just another year or so before they would be taken from Germaine's breast and placed in their father's care. And Olympe could not be there. She knew the man was given to drunkenness and violence. But would he hurt two babes, who had only just been weaned?  
  
The harlot was not sure what to hope for. She had prayed each night for Yvette to be safe, and now the young mother was in her grave. But she had prayed each night for the babes too, and here they were alive and healthy. She had prayed for someone gentle and loving to care for them, and here Germaine was. All of this, more than ever, made her puzzle on what the pastor of the church she had gone to growing up had used to say, that the Lord worked in mysterious ways.  
  
And the twins would stay together. They had to, as Germaine had said, as they were brother and sister and had shared a womb together. Olympe hoped they would protect each other as they grew up.  


~

  
  
Germaine cried when the time came to give up the late Yvette's now two-year-old children. Olympe offered to be the one to take them to their father, which both Germaine and Blanche obliged. The teary-eyed serving girl gave each twin a tight hug and one last kiss on the brow before she reluctantly handed them off to Olympe, who Blanche quickly ushered out the brothel's back door.  
  
The people of the dockside went about their usual business. Children played by the shore, fishwives sold their wares. A young girl pushing a wheelbarrow offered oysters for sale. Olympe passed them by while carrying one twin on each hip, bade some people she knew a quick greeting, and continued on her way.  
  
The village outskirts closer to the center of Aquitaine were not much different, although they were more densely populated, dotted with little houses and buildings and alive with the sound of footsteps on cobblestones. Olympe stayed withdrawn amongst the other passersby and tried not to draw much attention to herself. She reminded herself these were just people, like her, trying to get by and preoccupied with their own matters.  
  
The Inquisitor with the cross on his helm rode by on his coal-black destrier, earning frightened glances and seeming to cast a shadow over the whole street. The sight of him caused Olympe's heart to slam into her chest and sent a shiver down her spine. She turned away slightly and clutched the twins closer to herself as he passed. Arthur gripped her shawl in his tiny fist. She relaxed when the Inquisitor was gone, but kept her guard up.  
  
She faintly saw the de Rune estate in the far distance, and remembered she had heard several months ago that the Lady Béatrice had borne Knight de Rune his first child, a healthy and strong baby girl they named Amicia, for how dearly she was loved. This was good news, of course, but it made Olympe's heart sink. How lucky Lady de Rune had been to survive the birthing, and would be to care for and raise her child for years to come. Wealthy and poor women alike faced the danger of dying in childbirth, but children of peasants fell ill and died _far_ more often than those of nobles. The harlot wondered if Lady Béatrice would ever know what it was like to have a child that died or was sickly, as so many mothers did.  
  


~

  
  
The man who Olympe knew at once was the twins' father frowned upon opening the door for her. "Whaddaya want?"  
  
"Sir, do you happen to remember visitin' a red-haired harlot a couple years ago, by the docks?" she inquired, having a feeling inside that chances were he didn't.  
  
"Perhaps...? Why, who's askin'?" The man eyed the blonde harlot suspiciously.  
  
"I'm Olympe, from the same brothel as her." She held out the twins. "These are yer children, Arthur and Mélie."  
  
As the twins gazed up at their father and he scrutinized them, it was clear as day that they were his, with the red hair of their mother and distinctive light blue eyes nearly identical to his.  
  
"I don't want 'em." He slammed the door shut.  
  
"Ya don't want a couple extra hands to help with the land?" Olympe called.  
  
He opened the door again, his brow furrowed. "What's that now, whore?"  
  
Peasant children could be made to work at a very young age, Olympe knew. She wanted to slap herself for consigning the twins to this, but it could be the only way their father would take them. "They're two years old now. They can both walk, and they know a few words. They could clear stones from the land so yer tools don't break, chase birds away from the seeds, gather fruit and nuts and eggs."  
  
"...Alright then." The man took the twins from Olympe and started to close the door, smirking at her as he did. "See ya 'round, perhaps."  
  
_You're welcome,_ the harlot thought with distaste. _Man, and I thought the madam was a bitch..._   
  
Thinking of the exchange that had just happened and the bruise on Yvette's cheek a few years ago, Olympe wanted to demand the twins back and raise them herself someplace safe. But she did not have the means. "Someplace safe" did not even exist. And that was not up to her. She had to honor Yvette's wishes and Blanche's orders.  
  
This was the end. Everything would go back to normal at her place of business, even more so than it had right after Yvette's death. Blanche would procure, the girls would work, Germaine would cook and clean and attend to her own babe. None of them would probably ever see the twins again. Even if one did, the twins would not recognize her. What would happen to the two Olympe would probably never know.  
  
But she did know, as a tear rolled down her cheek, that she would miss them, in this unforgiving place where danger lurked at every turn, that she had to brave each day. She had done dirty and wrong things to survive, seen death with her own eyes, loved and lost.  
  
Yet she had treasured and preserved what innocence she could, so fleeting and pure it was, because it was the most beautiful thing in this damned world.  


~

  
Several years later, by the time the twins were around eight years old, they had grown close to each other — "thick as thieves," one might say — particularly since each was all the other had. Their father cared nothing for them, and would beat and yell at them whenever they made too much of a ruckus in their mischief for him to pretend they did not exist. So they laughed and ran and played and fought and made peace and played some more away from him, with each other.  
  
But they had to be careful, since they still lived with the man, and his violence could be unpredictable...especially when he had been in his cups. Arthur would stay vigilant, as he was the older of the two and had lost three baby teeth to his father's blows.  
  
Mélie, though...  
  
She was the more impetuous and unrestrained of the twins, even for a child. Arthur knew he had to protect her. Many siblings who fought often would be told by their parents about how they needed each other and had to look out for one another.  
  
They would not have to learn it firsthand.  
  
Neither twin remembered what this had even been about, but when they were playing by the river one day, they came to fighting loudly with one another, much to their father's irritation. Mélie slapped her brother's face, and he yelled at her that he wished she was dead.  
  
Their father strode up to them with a frown on his face, and both twins were sure they were in for another beating.  
  
What happened next turned out to be much worse.  
  
"Which of you started this?" he demanded.  
  
Without thinking, Arthur pointed at Mélie.  
  
Then their father grabbed Mélie by the hair, shoved her head under the water, and held it there as she struggled against him.  
  
"Papa, no! No, I didn't mean it!" Arthur cried.  
  
He tugged at his father's sleeve, tried to lift his arm up, pummeled it with punches, anything to save Mélie.  
  
"You'll have to fight harder'n that."  
  
"Papa, please..."  
  
"Hurry up now, boy. She don't have much time." His cold eyes met his son's.  
  
Then Arthur punched his father in the face as hard as he could, jostling him enough that he released his hold on Mélie, who rose from the water with a loud gasp for air.  
  
The boy rushed to his sister, who was soaked, taking in heavy breaths, and clearly distressed. He pulled her into his arms, and she threw hers around him. "It's alright, Mélie. You're alright now."  
  
That would not be the last time the twins fought, or grew so angry they wanted to kill each other, but it was the last time they played that close to the river. Arthur suspected their father had not really been going to drown Mélie, that it had only been to scare them into not making so much noise when he was nearby. But he could not be sure. And this was when he knew he had to keep his sister safe. That was what brothers did.   
  
No matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the last part, ever since I saw that part in the game where Mélie is in the boat with Lucas, reacts in some way we don't see, Lucas asks her about it and she says "I just don't like water," I've been wondering what that was about... So yes, I shamelessly ripped off that flashback scene with Hector and the twins in Breaking Bad XD ^^;


End file.
